Of Broken Blood
by Ores
Summary: Yeah I'm not good at these. It's about Fantrolls


Blood trickled down the corner of your lip, onto the hard floor you were laying on. You'd say the floor was cold, but your Cyrokinesis chilled your body to the point where almost everything was warm against your freezing skin, so no, the floor wasn't cold against your skin, it was obnoxiously warm. You push yourself into a sitting position, your eyes slowly trailing up to the male looming over you; A paraplegic of a lower blood colour than you. Kind of ironic, if you think about it.

You can't actually see him, you were as good as blind without your glasses, and he had taken them before he started beating you. You suppose that's something you could thank him for, but you're pretty sure he did that so that you couldn't fight back, not like you would if you could.

"Please," You could hear your voice crack, despite having only said one word, "Master, I-I'm sorry." What were you sorry for? You weren't even sure this time, you had just been talking to the Lowerblood when you were hit for the first time, a blow straight to your gut. You could still feel that first blow in your stomach, as if it had just happened.

His hand slips under your chin, and you're forced to look farther up than you had been before; You guess that he was looking into your eyes, but you couldn't be quite for sure with your inability to see past your nose. You didn't do anything but sit there and anticipate the next blow you were sure was bound to come, one normally did after you apologized to him.

Only one didn't come this time. Instead, he placed your glasses back on your nose, his brown eyes still staring into your own Jade ones, a stare colder than your skin could ever be. You don't speak, you couldn't for fear of him lashing out at you again, another... How long had he been hitting you? Twenty minutes, you'd guess, though it felt like it'd lasted far longer. You wouldn't put money on you getting out of bed tomorrow without him ordering you to, though this wasn't the worst he had done to you.

"Clean this shit up, Darren, then get out of my sight. I don't want to look at you," your Master snarls, raising his free hand as if to backhand you. Your eyes pinch shut in preparation for the hand cracking across your face, but he just moved his hand out from under your chin and wheels away. You could only assume he had gotten bored of hitting you.

Your eyes open slowly, brimming with tears you had refused to let fall while someone else was in the room. He had seen you cry before, yes, but you still didn't like people watching you cry, whether they had already seen you cry before or no. The diluted green of your tears streak your face as you shakily stand up, leaning your weight against the wall. Everything but your legs hurt like hell, your legs weren't in as much pain only because your Master wasn't quite short enough to hit those, nor could he really kick them.

To think, you actually got along quite well with him when he wasn't mad at you. It almost makes his abuse even more painful than it already was, at least he didn't try apologizing to you after he did it, say he wasn't going to do it again, everything you knew was a lie, nor would he go and pretend he never did anything. But you weren't Matesprits, so why would he do either? The thought of him trying to apologize and tell you he wouldn't do anything makes you scoff, despite the tears still flowing down your face.

You push yourself off the wall, your muscles screaming in protest as you move. Making your Master wait was never a good idea, no matter how much pain you were in. Your eyes scan the floor to see how much blood was on the floor. Not much, there was only some where you had been laying about a minute earlier. You sigh, wishing for a moment that there was a mop in your Master's house, but that would make things too easy, you'd get things done quickly when he wanted you to clean.

A groan escapes your mouth as you force yourself to walk over to the sink, picking up a sponge that was already stained Jade with your blood, and turning the water on, splashing the sponge in it. Snagging a dishtowel, also stained with your blood, you journey back across the length of the kitchen, stopping to set a chair back upright. You had been the very reason that chair was knocked down, you had the bruise on your back to prove it.

Shakily, you kneel down in front of the blood on the floor, slowly wiping it up with your sponge, then drying the floor and getting the remnants of the Jade liquid off the floor, the muscles in your body objecting the entire time. Clean this shit up, well, you had managed to do that, next was to get out of your Master's sight. You wanted to grab something to eat before you left the kitchen, but that wasn't something he had told you to do, and you weren't going to push your luck. If he wanted you to eat, he'd bring you something himself, allow you to eat that. Maybe you could manage to sneak out of your room sometime during the day, you could walk in the sun, after all. Like most Jadebloods.

You stand up again, once again forcing yourself to ignore the pain shooting through your body. For a moment, you think you might have wanted some worse type of beating, a whip or something of the sort, so that you wouldn't have been stuck cleaning the blood off the floor while you were in so much pain. At least when he did something like that he'd take you back to your room, though when you thought about it sitting on his lap while he wheeled you to your room was kind of strange.

Looking at the back door, you contemplate, not for the first time, running away. You could run faster than he could, namely due to the fact that he was paralyzed, hell you could steal the fucking car and get away. Once again, the knowledge that you have a tracking chip in your arm and that he would flay you alive when he found you stops you from running. That, and the fact that you were in too much pain to run.

You pull your glasses off, cleaning the tear stains off them with your hoodie and put them back on before quietly making your way to your room. You can hear your Master in the living room, typing someone on the computer. You couldn't help but wonder what he was he was doing in there. You were answered when loud music started playing, he was listening to music, probably trying to ignore the fact that you existed. He was listening to music and trying to pretend you didn't exist... Which probably meant you were going to be fed tonight, because he couldn't stop thinking about you for whatever reason. He's a terrible cook, you'd bet money on him just ordering a pizza.

Your gloved hand runs along the wall as you walk to make sure that, should you fall, you could at least try to catch yourself. The other arm is wrapped around your stomach, gently clutching at the cloth covering your stomach. There's a picture on the wall you stop to look at, one of a time you managed to talk your Master into taking you to an Amusement park. He could only ride a few things because he was Paraplegic, you only rode things the two of you could ride together. It was one of your more pleasant memories. You stop looking at the picture and walk into your room.

Your room is a fucking mess, it looks like a six and a half sweep old lived in there. Stuff varying from scrap metal to your clothes litter the floor, minus a walk way to and from your bed that was big enough for a wheelchair to get to your bed, but not turn around in. Mumbling your Master's name under your breath, you kick a shirt out of the walkway. Dravat. He had a name that fit a troll, unlike you. Your name was human, though it wasn't like any of the trolls or humans on your interracial planet cared. It was six letters, the standard for a troll.

You lay on your bed, his name still heavy on your tongue. Dravat. God, how you hated your Master, not even in a black sort of way. No, that would make it too easy for you, but no, your hatred for him had to be platonic. Or was it? Did you even actually hate him? You weren't sure, feelings were so complicated, some days you hated him yet most of the time you quite enjoyed being around him. You roll over, pulling your blanket over yourself, deciding you'd think about it whenever you woke up.

You're just about to drift off into sleep when the desktop computer in the corner of your room starts pinging at you. You groan and sit up, glaring at the now bright screen- Oh hey, you were still wearing your glasses, maybe it was a good thing someone had sent you a message. You had been so preoccupied with your thoughts and wanting to sleep that you had forgotten to take them off. Swinging your legs off the side of the bed, you start toward your computer.

There are multiple messages on the screen, some from your Master, the others from an unknown e-mail, both sent at about the same time. Why were they using Yahoo messenger? You knew Dravat had a Trollian, as did you... Best not to try and figure this one out, it wouldn't be worth the effort. The other guy, well, you weren't quite sure about him, you didn't know who he was. You decide to check Dravat's message first.

Dravat: hEY dARREN i'M ORDERING PIZZA.

Called it.

Dravat: sO UHM...

Dravat: wHAT WOULD YOU LIKE ON IT?

You rub your head, ignoring the pain it made course through your body. For all your Master was an asshole, he could be a considerate person, nice even, when he was in a good mood. He looked like he was trying to be polite right now,

Darren: anything except meat

Darren: pRefeRably with some mushRooms on it

Dravat: gOT IT.

You switch to the other message box, grinning as you read the text in it. The message was so simple, so very simple, one you got quite frequently, each time from a different person with more or less detail as to what they meant. You knew what they meant each time. You just wished you had been contacted some other time, maybe when you weren't covered in bruises.

Corvus: I w0uld lik3 t0 r3qu2st y0ur s3rvic3

Darren: youve contacted the wRong one of the two of us

Darren: theRe should be a phone numbeR on the page you found us on, call it.

Corvus: fin3

You turn your close both chat boxes, turning the desktop off. A sigh escapes your mouth, your cold breath visible in the air. Why did somebody have to contact you right now? Not like you objected to it, it would have been better if they messaged your Master or just called in the first place, but you still didn't really object to somebody messaging you instead of the other two options. You decide to go back to your bed, picking up a journal that had been passed down through your bloodline, and flip through it until you find the pages where the troll that had provided your genetic material translated it into English.


End file.
